


Bright

by njaalls



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Penetrators party (and refugees), Season 2, Soft!Chris, drunk!eva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njaalls/pseuds/njaalls
Summary: She’s beautiful, he thinks.But she’s not beautiful because she’s got a pretty face, long hair and dresses fashionably, but rather because her presence warms you up, because even when drunk, she’s genuine and she seems to radiate light from every inch of her body.-or just Chris dealing with a drunk Eva during and after the Penetrators (and refugees) party.





	Bright

**Author's Note:**

> So, this takes place during the Penetrators party, exactly after Vilde sees Noora and William kissing but she has to deal with a drunk Eva, who's throwing up all the alchol.  
> I wrote this os in Italian, like, months and months ago and honestly I gave up on post this traslation because my laziness and my actual lack of desire to come back with new fanfictions. But at the end, I knew I couldn't just let this piece die on my laptop, so here it is.  
> It's been traslate by the lovely Vohlupsa (http://vohlupsa.tumblr.com/) and in my mind it's inspired by Bright by Zayn.  
> Hope you like it.

 

 

 

**C** hris doesn’t even know how he ended up getting her home.  
He remembers Vilde rushing to his side, pushing an awkward and unsteady Eva towards him, as he was drinking a glass of beer, joking with his friends; a stern expression on Vilde’s face as she gave him precise requests, though he had barely heard them.  
“Find Sana. Or Chris. Tell them to take care of her” and there was an urge in her voice, but all he could see was that frown so typical of Vilde when she was angry or stunned.  
She hadn’t waited long before pushing her friend towards Chris: when he had tried to reply, opening his arms to hold a barely standing Eva, he’d seen Vilde disappear into the crowd.  
Some of his friends had made some remarks, some giggling, some joking about Eva or about him, jokes which Chris had barely heard.  
Standing still, he was watching from above the girl clinging to his chest with her head on his clavicle. He had seen her in that exact position with Vilde, drunk as a skunk, her silver cap worn backwards on her nape: then they had kissed, and he’d enjoyed the show. There was no show now, though, especially since it seamed it was his duty to get her back together.  
“You’re not going to kiss me too, will you?” he had asked, tilting his head back and grimaced.  
“You want to kiss me.” Eva had remarked with a giggle, quickly flicking her sweaty hair over her shoulder. Then she had held herself tighter onto Chris’ torso. “You ruined my relationship with Jonas.”  
He had laughed almost on a whim, and shaking his head he had wound his arm around the girl’s waist, “You smell like puke. There’s no way I’m kissing you now.” he had joked, dismissing his friends with wave a hand and pushing her towards the bar. “And you relationship with Jonas was already hanging by a thread.”  
“Won’t you let me say goodbye to your friends?” Eva had shouted in protest, wiggling in his arms and trying to go back to the place where Chris and his friends had been drinking not long before. He had held her by the hips with both hands and drawn her back into him.  
“Better not, or you’ll make an even worse impression.” He’d suggested, but his tone was cheerful as always. Eva had given in to that warning without blinking an eye **,**  and had gone back to holding on to him. Chris had dragged her to the bar —where she had drunkenly made out with Vilde— and he’d made her sit on a stool.  
“Jesus Christ,” he’d commented when she had almost missed the stool and had almost fell on the ground. He’d taken her from under her arms and, rolling his eyes, he’d made sure she wouldn’t fall down again.  
Eva had burst out in shrieking laughter and collapsing with her head to the bar, she had started crying. It was then that Chris had literally panicked, as all around them the fund raising party for the Penetrators (and the refugees) kept unfolding as if his night hadn’t just been ruined.  
“What’s the matter with you now?” he’d asked exasperatedly, getting closer to Eva.  
“You wanna fuck, Chris?” The girl had shouted back at him, reducing the distance between them and attempting to draw her lips closer to his. When he had shifted away, Eva had gone back to crying and whining something along the lines of “Not even you want me!” which then went dissolving into hysterical weeping.   
And _no_ , Eva was not even close to being right, but he wouldn’t have slept with her in that state because Penetrator Chris or not, there were some boundaries that not even he would surpass, and in that moment, Eva was exactly in the kind of situation where he would not even think about sleeping with her. Carelessly, he had lied a hand on her shoulder and leaned into her again. “You staying here? I’ll be back in two seconds.”  
“You’ll come back?” She’d asked in a childish tone, getting her forehead off the bar and sniffling.  
“I’ll be back”  
   
Chris had asked the barman to keep an eye on her and to give her a glass of water and, as he internally called himself an idiot and insulted Vilde, he’d started looking for the girls he remembered were Chris and Sana. Some people he seemed to know stopped him at times and he _really_ wanted to talk to them, but when he turned towards the bar on the other side of the room, he saw Eva talking by herself and making gestures with her hands, totally lost and confused, so he sighed and “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” he shouted with a sorry grimace on his face.  
Ten minutes later, he’d searched everywhere: from the club to the restroom, from the bar to the street, but there was no trace of Eva’s friends, Sana and Chris, to his uttermost chagrin; his cheeks red for the alcohol and cold for the chilly air, his hands resting in his jacket pockets. He’d cursed and then he’d seen Jonas.  
He was standing against a wall outside the club and he was talking thickly to a brunette who sometimes smiled and to whom he smiled in return. Chris’ limitless ego was struggling between the urge to punch him and taking a small revenge for the fight they’d had on the stairs at school, or to simply ignore him and go back inside to do god knew what with Eva completely wasted, thus depriving him of the attention and importance, that irritating hipster always seemed to receive. However, the thought that it might be his last chance to go back to the party, without having to babysit a drunk girl, had convinced him at last to put aside the irritation he felt just looking at Eva’s ex. He had sniffed and, getting his jeans up his waist, he’d joined Jonas at a quick pace.  
“Hey, guys,” he’d said in a fake friendly tone, which went hand in hand with his fake cordial smile. “Mate, can I have a word?”  
Jonas’ head had turned abruptly, a frown on his face, and his expression had gone from confused to sour. “I’m not _your_ _mate_.”  
“Yeah, I know that, you’re not that fun either,” Chris had clarified with a shoulder and an exaggerated grimace on his thin lips. “You’ve got no idea how hard it is for me to ask, but I need a favor.”  
“No way.”  
“It’s about Eva.”  
Chris had seen it, the change in his eyes, and he knew enough about it to understand that despite their break up, there still was and would always be some bond between the two of them. Then the hipster had narrowed his eyes and had acted so as to turn his face into the hard mask of annoyance he’d so openly showed previously.   
“I don’t care what you and Eva do, it’s none of my business anymore” Jonas had stressed, shrugging. Then, he had pointed eloquently at the girl and his eyebrows had raised even more. “I’m busy. Piss off, or—“ but Chris was already walking away **,** middle finger in the air in Jonas’ direction, and his dark eyes were looking for someone who could help him take care of Eva, who was now playing with her own hair. Not finding anyone and sighing, he’d held her by the waist and with her arm wrapped around his shoulders, he’d got her off the stool.  
“I hope you remember where you live, because I need your exact address” he had said, leading her towards a sofa where she’d said she’d left her coat. Chris had fastened up her buttons and then he’d lead her out of the club. She had protested a bit against the cold, chilly air, but he had succeeded in getting her inside the car without having to raise her from the ground every few steps, as he’d initially feared.  
   
“Eva, can you tell me your address?” he’d asked gently **,**  once inside the vehicle.   
The smile he’d received in return had him a bit surprised, but he’d smiled back at her and he’d leaned into her casually, gesturing for her to answer him. “I’ll tell you, only if you have sex with me.”  
A sigh and “As you wish”, before turning on the car, rolling his eyes and finally being told the street and civic number of the Mohn household.  
   
Now, Eva’s house stands over the dark sky to Chris’ left, who’s watching it from inside the car near the pavement. Then, when he turns to the girl by his side, he sighs and curses out loud.  
Eva’s head is resting on the car window, shoulder-length hair covering her face and hands clutched to her bag, as if in fear of someone’s stealing it out of nowhere, when Chris shakes her shoulder, not getting an answer and giving up to the fact that she just won’t wake up.  
“You owe me a favor,” he painfully grumbles, before opening the car door and getting out into the cold night, his hands freezing instant and turning his hoodie up **.**  “You owe me more than a favor.” he murmurs again to himself but he’s not remotely angry and when he opens the car door against which Eva’s face is resting, he’s careful not to make her fall out the car.  
Opening the front door with his only free hand is more complicated that Chris ha previously thought, the set of keys he had found in Eva’s coat had at least six keys in it, and none of them seemed to be willing to fit into the front door lock, as he tries to the lock in the night’s gloom.  
“Fuck it,” he murmurs, his teeth chattering because of Oslo’s low degrees and shifting Eva against his chest.  
“The purple one with glitter on it,” its a barely audible sound against Chris’ ear, gentle, a little by alcohol, maybe tired even. When he turns around, she’s trying to stand on her feet, then staggers and the boy grabs her steadily by her waist, coaxing her to hold onto him.  
“I already tried and it doesn’t fit into the lock,” he points out with a grimace, but looking for the purple one in the set of keys.  
“It’s faulty, you’ve got to push harder.” She explains, before burying her face against his shoulder and pressing a yawn she can’t suppress against his jacket. “My head’s spinning.”  
He would make a sarcastic remark, maybe to thank her for her timing, but the only thing he can say is: “I’m getting you inside”, before pressing the key inside the lock with a certain degree of force, and then turning it.  
   
The house is warm and when he switches the light on, he finds it completely anonymous in its elegance: it’s almost impersonal, as if nobody lived there, if it weren’t for Eva’s school bag abandoned on the ground, beside a pair of trainers and just one denim jacket hanging on the coat rack in the hall. Chris had already inferred from the lights off and the locked front door that the house was empty, but now it looks like there lives no other but Eva.  
Sighing and kicking the door closed, Chris leaves it behind his back, sets the keys on a piece of forniture in the hall and shifts the girl better in his arms as, closing her eyes, she leaves him do as he will.  
He comes forward into the kitchen and dining-room, spotless **,** if it weren’t for a bag of sliced bread left on the marble table, near a plate covered in bread crumbs.  
   
Chris leaves Eva on the dark sofa full of embroidered pillows, and when he lays her there she smiles up at him, almost as if mocking him. He’s sure she’s doing it on purpose, with those full lips and her hair all around her face, which was so long when he had first met her. He undoes the buttons of her jacket and Eva opens her eyes for an instant, as he tells her to get it off.  
“Thank you,” she murmurs.  
“Don’t get used to it,” he warns her, throwing her jacket over the back of the sofa, after she’s got it off. Eva stretches her legs on the piece of forniture and rests her head against a pillow and the armrest of the sofa. “But you’re welcome, I guess.”  
A moment later, Eva falls asleep in the blink of an eye, or keeping on smiling up at Chris as if she wanted to confess something astounding.  
   
He looks down at her sleeping form for the first ten minutes, sitting on the opposite armrest, his hands inside his jacket pockets and the hoodie fallen on his shoulders. She’s beautiful, he thinks.  
But she’s not beautiful because she’s got a pretty face, long hair and dresses fashionably, but rather because her presence warms you up, because even when drunk, she’s genuine and she seems to radiate light from every inch of her body. Even when she was crying, at the Halloween party, Chris had perceived how glowy she still was and he had flirted with her shamelessly. He knows she likes him, that she feels something for him, but nonetheless, he doesn’t feel the need to get away from her, as he’s used to doing: she’s not like Iben, because they, for some absurd reason,  _had been together_ , and yet Eva is not even like Ingrid or any other girl he’s kissed and then forgotten right after.  
   
When Eva shifts around after ten long minutes, getting into a more comfortable position among the pillows, Chris is drawn out of his thoughts and shakes his head, as if to get rid of them. He’s about to run the distance that separates him from the front hall, but he almost automatically stopping: a single, rapid glance at Eva is enough for him to go back to her and cover her with the jacket she had taken off.  
When he closes the door behind his back and the stinging cold penetrates even to his bones, he thinks of Eva and the glass of water he’s left on the table in the living-room, an almost thoughtful gesture. Maybe _too_ thoughtful.  
   
For that reason, the following days he tries to avoid speaking about that night to Eva and her friends, as if he’d somehow wronged himself, as if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and now could not remedy to all that selfless kindness.  
He tries with all his might not to notice how beautiful Eva is, how lively, and not to act different from the boy she first met: confident, bold, surrounded by lots of acquaintances and few friends he could count on.  
Eva is something he can’t control, that he hasn’t yet comprehended, but with whom it’s better not to get burned; so he puts his hoodie on his head and smiles at her arrogantly when he knows she’s looking. As if, at the end of the day, he didn’t feel the burning desire to relive it all all over again.


End file.
